WOOOOOOOOOOM!
The Blood Moon pulsed.
High above the burning city, Charron the Undying didn't rush. He didn't scream. He simply floated downward, his tattered grey robes billowing around him like smoke.
He looked less like a warrior and more like a natural disaster.
"A child," Charron's voice echoed, not from his mouth, but from the air itself, vibrating in Damien's bones. "And a mongrel."
He pointed his dragon-spine staff at the World Tree.
"The Master desires the seed. All else… is dust."
Tap.
He tapped his staff against the air.
BOOM!
A massive, concentric ring of grey necrosis magic expanded from his position. It washed over the upper branches of the World Tree.
Instantly, the vibrant, glowing leaves turned grey and crumbled to ash. The wood rotted. The bioluminescent lights died.
The rot was spreading downward, straight toward the Queen's chamber.
